


The Dragon’s Tempting Bride

by Summer_Solstice_Girl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, AU- Dragons, Anthropomorphic, BAMF Sherlock, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, But he loves his position more, Caring John, Caring Sherlock, Dragon John, F/F, F/M, Fantasy elements, John doesn’t want a new mate, M/M, Magnussen being creepy, Mycroft loves his brother, Other, Pining, Possessions, Possessive Behavior, Scenting, Sherlock Begin Cruel, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock and John are idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 17:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summer_Solstice_Girl/pseuds/Summer_Solstice_Girl
Summary: Sherlock is a vain, spoiled omega who enjoys teasing men to get what he wants out of life, namely to remain independent and unbonded.John Watson is a broken ancient dragon who, after the death of his wife, has no desire to take another.





	The Dragon’s Tempting Bride

**Author's Note:**

> I started this work over four years ago, but I never found support for it, and one person was outright critical, so I put it away. But now I decided to publish what I had. 
> 
> This has not been betaed. I am currently looking for one.

Prologue

 

Gleaming and bright, the High City of Bakker sits atop a cliff-side of what was once a massive mostly rocky outcropping. It’s a glittery display of towers and mansions that look down upon small villages and farmlands in the valleys below.

Ages ago, when Bakker was but a small village itself, it was frequently assaulted and harassed by many of those same towns it now rises above. Being a mostly beta village meant the men didn’t have the brawn and stamina to become soldiers and were ill-equipped to fight off the alpha-run populations. They were forced to make due with the assets they did have, namely, their brains.

Through clever scheming, bold manipulation, and genuine desperation, they reached out and enlisted the aid of an unparalleled warrior-inclined horde of Ancient Dragon. This particular breed of dragon, quite opposite from the jewel and treasure-seeking varieties, thirst for warfare, large-scale if possible. Thriving on bloodshed and fighting, they yet have a strange affiliation towards participating in wars with what they deem have a moralistic justification behind them, strange as that may be. Greater than their craving of war, these dragon hunger after hedonism of the flesh. Tales told of how many flesh treasures a single dragon might pick off from a single village were it to fly by. Bakker, knowing all this, used this information to their advantage. Their men being mostly beta meant genetically they had higher rates of producing omegas than any of the alpha counterparts, as well as having a larger share of more attractive females. 

And so, these were their offerings they made to the great Ancients, who had mostly thrived on whatever ill-favored betas and women they could find. The carnal-minded dragons happily accepted. To celebrate Bakker quickly initiated a huge festival in which they would honor their new guardian dragons and gave to them their due in both any gold they could spare, and more importantly, all the omegas and the most attractive girls they had to offer. 

Under the special guardianship of the Ancients, the leaders of Bakker quickly had their enemies wiped out. When they were destroyed, they turned the dragons on to anyone who dared to disturb their trading routes; and then, anyone who merely competed with them. Farther and farther did Bakker's reach become, until Bakker's coffers couldn't fit all the gold and treasure they were making. It turned out to be ridiculously easy for the clever betas to dupe the dragons. They knew exactly how to lie and scam and manipulate to make it seem that their plight was ever growing not ever lessening. For the most part the dragons blindly went wherever Bakker sent them, burning and razing villages, plantations, cities, anywhere they were conscripted to go. Bakker was able to build up their trade routes and knew their vessels would not be harassed. And in return, all Bakker needed to do was offer up a handful of their ‘ripest, most beautiful flesh prizes.’ The offering festival became annual. A lavish celebration lasting up to a week where the youngest and prettiest were paraded out and each alpha dragon selected a flesh treasure of their choosing. 

At first, the betas had no problem giving away the best of their softer sex to the warriors. However, as the years passed, and the men of Bakker rose in permanent wealth and station, so too did their hubris and entitlement. It pained them to see their most attractive omegas, which they themselves highly coveted, being sacrificed to some monster's lust. And so one year they tried to trick the dragons. They tucked away the very 'best' of that year, presenting their second most attractive.

Amazingly, it worked. Since the Dragons only really came to the city proper annually to collect their concubines and to be given their missions for the next year, it seemed that so long as there were no omegas anywhere near the festivities, even the dragon's incomparable sense of smell wouldn't matter. As the years passed the quality of the omegas and women decreases, slowly, so much so that the dragons hardly noticed it, until it nearly became common knowledge that Bakker simply didn't produce the flawless beauties they once had, centuries and centuries ago.  

 

***

Three Days Before Offering Day

 

It's early. Dawn is only just blushing the eastern sky,  yet already the streets in Bakker are loud and bustling. With Offering Day nearly upon there is much for the residents to do in preparation. Soon their city will be inundated with people who live outside the walls; mostly peasants, farmers, fishermen, villagers and the like; but the rich come as well. From far off territories in some cases. For the poor, the day is about praying to and paying homage to the magnificent "Warrior Beasts.” They see them swoop over time to time, on reconnaissance with the leaders of Bakker, and while those who live on the outskirts are no longer in the great city's sights for vengeance or retribution, they know all too well how fickle their beta lords can be. For them, gratitude to the dragons comes in many forms: animal sacrifice, what little gold they can muster from the previous year, and many willing sacrifices. Their girls and boys volunteer eagerly to be selected. They might not have omegas like Bakker, and their women are more homely, but their young beta men are attractive enough, and ever their alphas don't need much convincing to go. A flesh treasure, so long as they don't make their dragon lord angry, or too lustful, is used up after several months, especially those who aren't omega or especially beautiful. After any magical care needed they are deposited in whatever city they so desire, which is usually far, far away from the sight of Bakker. There they can make an easy life for themselves based on their experience alone. Even the most homeliest will have a life ten times richer than anything they could hope to have in their small podunk village.

The problem however is that they rarely get chosen, or at least that used to be the case. Over the last several decades the dragons seem almost as likely to cull from their ranks as to take the gifts from Bakker. They day is a day of hope and gratitude and grandeur.

But inside the city, especially among Bakker’s elite, the day is seen as little more than a rote ritual, a necessary formality so that the council can move forward for their plans of which enemies and competitors they will have targeted in the next year. It merits being ranked as only the eighth most important festival of their year.

Privately, most citizens of Bakkers look down on the dumb carnal Alphas they are so easily able to mold and wield. 

 

***

Far from Bakker, across rivers and plateaus and mountains, the Great Longhall of the Reichenbach Dragons stands practically empty. All but the army Generals, who will be accompanying James to Offering Day, are either away on missions mission or at home in their respective caves.

Commander Sholto stands at attention by a window as his lieutenant, Sebastian Moran, walks up behind him and clears his throat.

“Sir. You called for me.”

“It’s about Watson.” Sholto states flatly, not glancing away from the window. "He'll be here shortly but I wanted to meet with you first, get your thoughts."

_Oh shit_ , Moran thinks.

“I see.” He says hesitantly. Sholto must have found out about John’s bad day. “Would this be about the incident last week?” John Watson is one of the most fiercest, bravest, most dependable dragons their ranks have ever seen, but he is well know to be a loose canon, a thunderous temper contained within quiet fury; but rarely does it take place during training or missions when the dragon is adept at keeping his anger focused and controlled. But last week, during a training exercise, Watson’s violent temper caused him to lash out at a young draconic underling, a new recruit, breaking both his arms before the young alpha had a chance to transform.

“That? Pfft.” Sholto scoffs. “Hellfire, I don’t care about that.”

Moran rolls his eyes. If it were anyone else, any other General, Sholto would surely have reprimanded publicly, perhaps even gone so far as to removed some of his horde and flesh treasures. But John... 

Watson is and always has been Sholto’s favorite. He's his second in command and in many ways Sholto seems to see John as a son, the elder alpha never having any himself. Moran has no doubt he’d let Watson get away with anything so long as he thought it might bring the silver haired dragon a modicum of happiness. 

“I’m worried about him.” James's voice is flat, but there's a noticeable, if small, glint of genuine concern there that has Moran suddenly concerned as well. 

“Worried? What do you mean, Sir?”

“I’ve heard rumors. He’s drinking more. Getting into more fights. Not just the usual stuff. I'm talking all the time. He's depressed. It's interfering with his abilities to transform at will it seems. What he needs is a mate. Why the hells hasn't he found one?”

Relief that it isn't something more serious washes over him, and be can't help but chuckle. “Found _one_? Hells, that alpha fucks anything he sees. The man can’t decide on just one, Sir. I doubt he could even remember the name of whatever village girl or beta he bedded last night." 

"I don't mean escorts from the valley. Maybe I do - I don’t care who he bonds with. All I care about is him finding someone he can own as a real mate. A  _wife._ John Watson needs a new wife."

Moran's brow stitch together. 

"Someone to support him, keep him level. Someone he can come home to. Someone to make him happy..."

"Sholto, all due respect but those villagers are hardly worthy. They barely last a couple months, if that."

"Then what about the flesh prizes, from Bakker, year after year he's taken one of those hasn't he? Have they not tempted his palate? Made him want to keep one for longer?"

"Er...sometimes, yes, but..." Moran bites his lips as he tries to think of the most diplomatic way to approach the question. He takes a deep breath. "To be honest, sir, the Offerings over the past decades are just--fucking awful. Even the omegas are..." He shrugs his shoulder. "Older, uglier, if you don't mind me saying so, sir. Hells, I don't know why. Maybe they're stretched thin in the city. Maybe they just don't produce the same pretty omegas anymore, but, well, all of us have noted the decline, sir.  We take 'em cause they're still omegas and the women are still decent, but none of us have been impressed for almost fifty years." 

Sholto sighs deeply, his bald head falling forward. When he speaks his voice is low and resigned. “Yes. Yes, I have noted it as well. Perhaps you are right, Moran. They no longer seem to be worth it do they?" He sighs deeply. "You know I occasionally get the impression these villages Bakker has us raiding hardly seem like worthy targets. But--" His voice drifts off for a moment before he starts again. "Maybe this year will be better. They’re my last hope of getting Watson a new bride. He must. I won't have him going without any longer.”

”Believe me, sir. It's not a matter of all that. He don't much discern between the comely omega and a village girl.”

”Then why hasn’t he married again?” Sholto growls, finally looking over shoulder, directing a withering gaze at Moran, as if it's his fault John doesn't want to be bonded again. “What's his damn problem. It’s been ages since his wife died.” 

“Well, sir." Moran rubs the back of his neck. “From what’s he’s told me, and given what happened to his wife-” He says, trying to catch the older dragon's eyes in understanding, but there's not even the smallest tinge of recognition there. The blond haired alpha wonders if the commander even knows of the tragic and violent details surrounding John’s wife’s death. “He doesn't plan on ever making another bond.”

”Fuck that.” Sholto growls. “I refuse to allow my best soldier to kill himself with mindless drinking and soulless sex. He can keep a dragon’s harem if he wants but he _will_ take a bride." 

"No, James. I won't." Sebastian spins around at hearing the gravel rough voice behind him to find John Watson standing at the doorway, his dark eyes glittering with anger. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have a slow burn. The rating may go up in future chapter, and I'll probably add more tags as they occur in the story.
> 
> I really love feedback. If you could either comment or leave a kudos it would mean a lot to me. :)


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